


Repeat Offense

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Detective Tahmoh Penikett, Enemies to Lovers, Lawyer Jensen Ackles, M/M, Sequel, Top Tahmoh Penikett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: The two of them haven’t spoken outside the precinct or the justice building in a few months. Not since the night they spent together back in January. There have been no more ‘accidental’ meetings at the corner bar they each frequent, no late night confrontations in Jensen’s office going over the details of a case. If Penikett’s job did bring him to the office, another detective was always with him.Talk about mixed signals.





	Repeat Offense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dugindeep (hotsauce)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/gifts).
  * Inspired by [trial de novo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386160) by [dugindeep (hotsauce)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep). 



> For my AMAZING Amy on the occasion of her ~BIRTHDAY~!!!! I love you so much and I love that you created such an amazing little cop/lawyer AU for me to play around in! I tried to do your story justice—albeit with a little more fluff because I CANNOT DENY MY NATURE—so I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> This is a direct sequel to Amy's story [trial de novo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386160) written for my birthday in January.

“Fuck me.”

Jensen grins. “Not why I’m here, but if that’s what you want—”

“Please shut up,” Detective Penikett groans, circling his desk to stand beside the chair Jensen is currently occupying. Penikett’s chair, to be precise. “Today’s bad enough without you showing up to interfere in an investigation.”

The detective emerged from his captain’s office just a moment ago, his eyes flashing hot when he caught sight of Jensen leaning back at his desk and unable to keep the curse off his lips.

“It’s not interfering to make sure you’re doing the job correctly.”

Penikett deflates. “What the hell are you doing here, Ackles?” Jensen reads the slight hesitance in the question, the unprofessional curiosity that can’t be disguised.

“Don’t worry, Detective. I’m not here for _you_. Your captain called and said one of the suspects in those armed robbery cases wants a deal in exchange for testimony against his accomplices. I’m here to decide if he’s worth the paperwork.”

The two of them haven’t spoken outside the precinct or the justice building in a few months. Not since the night spent together back in January. There have been no more ‘accidental’ meetings at the corner bar they each frequent, no late night confrontations in Jensen’s office going over the details of a case. If Penikett’s job did bring him to the office, another detective was always with him.

Talk about mixed signals.

That night had been a revelation. Damn. Jensen still gets off on the memory of Tahmoh manhandling him, giving him everything he was asking for—hell, a step away from _begging_ for—as they fucked the night away after a dismissal hit them both hard. There’d been a moment when Tahmoh told Jensen he could stay, when he thought that maybe the last few years of escalating tensions between them were finally over and they could turn into friends or something more.

But one night—and one hell of a lazy morning blowjob—was all he got. The next day, and every day since, it was back to _Detective Penikett_ , frosty attitude and all.

Jensen would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him.

“John says you haven’t been coming around lately,” Jensen ventures, seeing that everyone else in the bullpen is occupied and not paying them an ounce of attention. 

Penikett scoffs and slaps his hand down on a pile of folders taking up too much real estate on his desk. “I’m sure you know what my caseload is like right now, Counselor. Too many perps and not enough of them getting put away.”

Six months ago, Jensen would have snapped at the bait—his job is his life, putting in an inhuman number of hours so that one day he’ll be the one calling the shots. Instead, he treats the detective to a condescending grin.

“I thought maybe you had something better to go home to.”

Penikett’s jaw tightens for a split second. Jensen, who prides himself on his ability to dismantle witnesses on the stand based on less, doesn’t miss the tic.

“My scotch is better than the crap John serves, that’s all,” he says.

Jensen purses his lips. “That’s so?”

He’s about to say something else, something irredeemably stupid in response to the remaining hostility disappearing from Penikett’s expression, when the captain sticks his head out of his office.

“Counselor?”

The moment, whatever it could have been, is snapped.

“Duty calls,” he says, surrendering the detective’s chair. He glances at the pile of folders, the tension in Penikett’s hand on top. “Let me know if you need me to _interfere_ with anything.”

@@@@@

The knock at the door drags Jensen out of the paperwork void to which he’s been lost for the better part of two hours. Looking up and seeing Penikett’s face is not an unpleasant surprise after the tedium.

Not that he’ll admit it out loud.

After stretching the kinks out of his back, Jensen grins and asks, “Now who’s interfering?”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling you how to do your job.” Penikett smirks. They both know he takes pleasure in doing exactly that. “If you’re busy, I can come back some other time.”

Penikett is gripping a file. Once his smirk fades, Jensen can see that he’s concerned. The mood shifts, Jensen clearing space at the table for Penikett to sit down and explain his sudden (unchaperoned!) appearance in Jensen’s office.

“This about a case?”

“Not yet,” the detective says. “I’ve been after this businessman, Walter Ericksen, for almost a year, and I’ve never been able to bring charges against him. What he’s doing...on the surface, it’s not technically illegal, but I know he’s connected to at least three of my cases. I thought maybe you could find me a way in.”

“So, you want to use me for my brilliant legal mind?”

Penikett shrugs, eyes lighting up. “That fancy law degree of yours must be good for something, Ackles.”

Jensen’s blood begins to race. “Alright, Detective. Show me what you’ve got.”

An hour later, Jensen’s rolling on an endorphin high. It’s not unlike sex, this rush of satisfaction. He and Penikett went over everything, trading ideas back and forth. There were arguments—they were bound to have differing points of view—but it never crossed into cutting insults. Instead, they used each other’s experience to find new angles for the detective to investigate, obscure laws they could use against the suspect.

Penikett sits back, looking pleased, and Jensen can’t force his eyes away. He lives for moments like this: achieving the impossible and creating a win out of nothing. Well, they haven’t won anything, not yet, but it’s a good start. When they put aside their stubbornness and really got down to work, he and Penikett actually made a good team.

An alert pops up on Jensen’s phone and he curses.

“Something wrong?”

“I’ve got a motions hearing in twenty minutes.” Jensen pulls the relevant files from his overloaded table.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“It’s worth it if you end up nailing Ericksen,” Jensen says. “Don’t let me down, _Detective_.”

“I won’t, _Counselor_.”

Another moment that weighs heavily in the quiet office. This time, the words are right there.

“You know, we never got a chance to talk after—”

“That was kind of the point,” Penikett cuts in, glancing away. “Nothing to talk about. Right?”

Jensen was hoping for an entirely different response. “Right,” he agrees, standing up and reaching for his suit jacket. “I should get going.”

“Of course.” Penikett gathers his files before fixing his tie, which he’d loosened during their back-and-forth. “Thanks for the help. I’ll let you know what happens.”

He rushes out of the office without giving Jensen a chance to say goodbye, and Jensen isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

@@@@@

Penikett is frowning. “You didn’t have to drop this off personally.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Jensen explains, handing the necessary warrants over to his favorite detective turned one night stand.

“Likely story,” Burton, another detective, pipes up from her desk, which butts up against Penikett’s. “We all know you came up here for your favorite coffee.”

“Guilty as charged.” Jensen brandishes his cup from _A Roast Above_ and lets the detectives assume that’s the reason he journeyed uptown—the little shop really does have the best coffee in Manhattan. More than once, Jensen has offered to invest if they wanted to open another location further downtown. “I wouldn’t say no to another cup if anyone’s up for a walk.”

He’d deny it under oath, but the truth is that things are starting to mellow between him and Penikett and Jensen can’t keep a lid on his curiosity. Over the last two weeks, the frigid avoidance of the last few months has melted, and while they haven’t returned to their clashing ways, their working relationship is functional again.

Or so he thought.

“That’s gonna have to wait,” Penikett says, shooting Burton a tense look. “We were just about to head out.”

“Raincheck, then.” Whatever his motivations are, Jensen doesn’t actually want to get in the way of pressing matters.

“Sure, whatever.”

Speechless, Jensen watches Tahmoh pull his weapon out of his desk and holster it before grabbing his keys. The detective all but stomps out of the squadroom leaving Jensen standing beside Burton.

“Ignore him,” she says, and damn her friggin’ empathy. “It’s this case. S.O.B. is emotionally abusing his wife and kids, but the guy’s father is pulling strings with the commissioner and deputy mayor in order to keep us off his back.”

Explains a lot. The detectives overwork themselves on cases like this, spreading themselves thin to make sure justice is served. Jensen understands the self-destructive impulse.

“Let me know what I can do,” Jensen offers sincerely. “Shoot me the details and I’ll look into those ‘strings’, see if I can’t unravel one or two.”

Burton smiles and grabs her things. “Boy, Tahmoh has you figured all wrong, doesn’t he? You really are one of the good guys.”

@@@@@

Despite the fact that Jensen hasn’t seen Penikett at this bar for months, he’s not shocked to walk in and find the detective slumped on a stool tonight.

Thanks to updates from the captain and texts from Detective Burton, Jensen has been keeping up with the squad’s latest investigation and paving the way forward where he can. He’d been looking forward to prosecuting the bastard once the squad finally nailed him. Until tonight.

He takes the stool beside Penikett and signals to John for his usual drink. The detective, fully aware of Jensen’s arrival, watches the amber liquid swirl in his glass. 

“Guess you heard.”

Burton texted him half an hour ago. “I’m all for due process, but there’s a big part of me that’s okay with this guy never seeing the inside of a courtroom,” Jensen admits after taking a long sip of his drink. “I’ll certainly sleep better tonight.”

Penikett huffs.

“His wife and kids are safe—”

“Barely. If Hilarie and I hadn’t arrived when we did…”

“That’s all that matters,” Jensen concludes.

In the ensuing silence, he studies the detective’s appearance. Scruff along his jawline, eyes that blink a little too slowly, shirt and tie both wrinkled beyond rescue. It looks like he hasn’t slept in a week; Jensen can’t exactly blame him for that. He’s familiar with the inevitable insomnia that tags along with a tough case.

“You want me to leave?”

Penikett shakes his head, and that’s good enough for Jensen.

They don’t talk about the case or the events that led to the shootout that left their suspect dead. Jensen knows that Penikett wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger—he and Burton were the ones attempting to negotiate a peaceful resolution—for which he’s grateful. If he had, and Jensen found him here slinging back drinks, he’d feel compelled to notify the man’s captain.

Drinking to blunt the day’s harsh reality, well, Jensen can get on board with that.

They talk about the city, complain about the cost of food and the swarms of tourists that no longer stick to places like Times Square or the Brooklyn Bridge. They move in very different social circles, but it’s not difficult to find common ground when it comes to city life. The more they talk, the less they drink until they’re too busy debating the merits of cabs versus rideshare apps to notice the fresh round John sets on the bar.

If the detective’s eyes seem clearer and his smiles more genuine as the hours pass, Jensen doesn’t mention it.

@@@@@

Penikett doesn’t object when Jensen offers to share a ride home. He follows Jensen into the Lyft, hands flexing where they rest on top of his thighs, and confirms the address with the driver. When Jensen steps out of the car and stands next to him on the sidewalk in front of Penikett’s building, the detective grins and heads for the door as the Lyft drives away.

It’s better if Jensen doesn’t think about it too hard.

As soon as the apartment door clicks shut behind them, Jensen gets what he’s been waiting for since the detective fixed him with a heated, drawn out look back at the bar, a look that told Jensen he wasn’t the only one who’s been replaying their night together for a bit of pleasurable inspiration.

Tahmoh—Jensen’s mind shifts to more personal terms—crowds his space, hands roaming the length of Jensen’s torso and slipping underneath his suit jacket. Jensen falls back against the wall, wide stance creating a space for Tahmoh’s thigh to press between his legs. He grinds shamelessly into the pressure, chin tilted up to watch the way Tahmoh’s eyes sharpen in arousal.

On the way over, Jensen told himself he was coming here to take care of Tahmoh after an emotionally charged day. Now that he’s pinned against the wall with Tahmoh intent on getting him off before either of them lose a stitch of clothing, there’s an entire list of things he wants, almost none of which fall under the umbrella of friendly emotional support.

Reading Jensen’s mind, Tahmoh’s voice is a low rumble in his ear. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want to come in my pants,” Jensen growls, pushing Tahmoh away and dragging him further into the apartment. 

He remembers the way to Tahmoh’s bedroom, their shoulders and knees colliding with walls and doors as they kick off their shoes and attempt to strip one another along the way. They only manage to lose half their clothing by the time they stumble into the bedroom and fall, grabbing at any skin they can reach, onto the pale sheets.

Jensen lands on his back, arching up against Tahmoh’s sturdy body. His long legs—his long _everything_ , for that matter—are a hell of a turn-on, and it would take more than a handful of nights to learn every inch.

He knows exactly where to start.

For all that they’d sucked and fucked, they’ve never once kissed. With Tahmoh braced above him rolling his hips and letting Jensen feel the length of his cock, there are only inches between their lips. Little enough for Jensen to lever up and press their mouths together.

Tahmoh freezes. The bottom drops out and, for a moment, Jensen thinks he’s gambled and lost, ruining all the progress they’ve made. Until Tahmoh begins to kiss back. Not hesitantly, not gently, not sweetly. It’s full force, liquid sex, fulfilling and unraveling all at once. Tahmoh is all over him, weight bearing down and preventing Jensen from moving away. Not that he would—this feels fucking _amazing_. There’s a fuzzy halo around everything; whether it’s from the drinks earlier or his brain short-circuiting, it does nothing to dampen the pleasure.

“This is your damn fault.”

Jensen tears his mouth away from Tahmoh, sputtering. “My fault? What the hell?”

“I thought we’d fuck once and we’d be good.”

“We _were_ good,” Jensen points out.

“Shut up.” Tahmoh leans down and kisses him, parted lips and a devilish tongue tormenting Jensen for a few seconds before he’s talking again. “I thought that would be it. Then you had to go and be a decent human being.”

“My mistake.” Jensen drags him back into the kiss, upping the ante and making it as filthy and promising as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

“Make sure it doesn’t,” Tahmoh growls, nipping at his bottom lip and driving him crazy.

Jensen moans as Tahmoh bites and kisses his way down his body, tearing Jensen’s pants open and shoving them past his knees where Jensen takes over, kicking them off along with his boxer briefs. Last time it was all rough n’ tumble, straight to the action. He won’t say no to a bit of foreplay, though, especially when it’s this consuming. Tongue teasing his nipples, a hint of teeth—not something he explores, but it’s definitely promising—until Jensen grips Tahmoh’s broad shoulders and pushes him further down.

“Bad?”

“Just the opposite,” Jensen gasps. The only way to wipe the smirk off Tahmoh’s face after that admission is to continue pushing until those pale pink lips are wrapped around his dick.

This is one of the moments Jensen replays when he’s home late and looking for a little stress relief: the mental picture of Tahmoh sucking his cock as sunlight began to pour through the bedroom window.

It’s even better tonight—which Jensen didn’t imagine was possible—with Tahmoh’s generous tongue and the unrelenting grip he maintains on Jensen’s thighs. Jensen is a fan of enthusiasm, sloppy or not, and Tahmoh’s warm gaze when he looks up tells Jensen that there’s almost nowhere he’d rather be.

When Jensen’s sprawled out, desperately clinging to his self-control to stop himself from coming, Tahmoh opens him up with three lubed fingers. He presses deeper when Jensen grabs the back of his neck and drives his tongue into Tahmoh’s mouth, mirroring the thrust and speed as Tahmoh finger-fucks Jensen into a writhing mess.

“Hard like last time?” he asks, a gleam in his eye as he snaps the condom into place.

“Fuck yes.”

“On your back?”

Jensen shakes his head and turns over onto his knees, arching his back in a display he _knows_ can melt a man’s control. And that’s exactly what he wants, to let Tahmoh take what he needs.

Tahmoh lets out a long string of curses, forcing Jensen to bury his grin in his crossed arms. Grabbing him by the hips, Tahmoh presses inside, and suddenly there are two sets of groans echoing in the bedroom. The stretch feels good, but each time Jensen thinks he’s full, Tahmoh pulls back before giving him _more_. There’s a divine ache in his thighs, muscles that aren’t used on a daily basis being put through their paces.

It’s sweaty and messy and _loud_. Tahmoh is going to have to move if they keep fucking like this because his neighbor is obviously pissed (probably jealous, too). The irate pounding on the wall only spurs Tahmoh to fuck him harder, folding over Jensen’s back and using his shoulders for leverage. Each thrust is hard and claiming—Jensen is definitely going to feel this in his knees tomorrow—yet there’s a gentleness to his hands as they sweep along Jensen’s torso and down the length of his spine.

When Tahmoh pulls out and urges Jensen over onto his back, he goes willingly. With greedy hands, Jensen draws Tahmoh between his legs, bringing his cock back where he needs it. No longer wasting precious energy holding himself up, Jensen lets himself fall into the dreamy headspace of being fucked so thoroughly. Tahmoh is whispering in his ear—could be profound, could be nonsense—but all Jensen can focus on is the sweet agony of the pressure within, the pulse that races through him each time Tahmoh’s cock hits that spot.

He couldn’t tell you who comes first, only that they collapse together as the aftershocks leave them speechless. Jensen tugs at the lethargic body on top of him until Tahmoh shifts to give him more room to breathe. It also brings their lips close enough for Jensen to steal another kiss. One kiss turns into more as their orgasms fade to faint sensations.

The moment is broken by another curse shouted through the apartment wall. Tahmoh suddenly feels twice as heavy and Jensen shoves him to the side, staggering towards the bathroom to clean up as Tahmoh yells something rude in response.

Jensen doesn’t ask if he can stay the rest of the night. By the time Tahmoh gets out of the bathroom, Jensen has claimed his preferred side of the bed and dug his phone out of his pants to set on the nightstand. Tahmoh looks at him and shrugs, crawling naked into bed and yanking the pillow out from beneath Jensen’s head.

“You can have the other one,” he says, tossing it so it lands with a _thump_ on Jensen’s face.

It’s not exactly post-coital bliss, but Jensen’s certainly had worse. Strange thing is, he can’t really remember if he’s ever had better.

“Still hate me?” he asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Ask me in the morning,” Tahmoh mutters, rolling over and giving Jensen a splendid view of his bare, muscled back. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”

 

FIN.


End file.
